


Gathering The Teacup

by BisexualHannibalLecter



Series: Teacups & Time [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Adopted Abigail Hobbs, Angst, Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Dark Abigail Hobbs, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Mind Games, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BisexualHannibalLecter/pseuds/BisexualHannibalLecter
Summary: Having successfully faked the death of Abigail Hobbs in the aftermath Hannibal's escape, Jack has her committed to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and placed under the care of Dr. Chilton.Sequel toShattering The Teacup
Relationships: Abigail Hobbs & Barney Matthews
Series: Teacups & Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795879
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	Gathering The Teacup

**Author's Note:**

> After a long wait, here's chapter 1! I will be taking a fic posting hiatus for the entirety of October, so look out for chapter 2 in November!
> 
> There is a chance the rating will be moved to M, and I have set up for the reveal of a particularly dark/heavy detail that may be triggering. I promise to tag/warn accordingly, and as always, please put your health above reading fic <3
> 
> EDIT: Hey, decided to make this a single-chapter fic. Had some trouble writing lately due to stress/work/school/etc. and I don't want this sitting at 1/2 past the new year. Part three will be out soon, though.

It’s a warm, sunny day in Buenos Aires. The streets hum with life around Abigail as she walks, but she can’t be bothered to pay a single bit of attention to those around her. Even the breeze blowing stray locks of hair into her face does not distract her, nor do the few strands that find themselves caught in her lip gloss. Abigail has one thing on her mind and one thing only: finding her fathers. 

Eventually, Abigail finds herself at the city’s heart, staring at the entrance of a massive, magnificent building— so wonderful that one could only dream of it, she thought. She admires the carvings and details in the stone, arches and curls and the like decorating every column and support structure. There were carvings of faces, too, and what looked like a dozen cherubs. The sight was so high she had to crane her neck all the back to get a good look, and even in the daylight, she felt the view was not properly done justice. It was all nearly too beautiful for words alone. She had expected nothing less of a place chosen by Hannibal.

Abigail enters the Teatro Colón Opera House with a soft smile. It is far more crowded than the streets, filled with people dressed just as elegantly as herself. Light from the chandeliers glints off the silver and gold and diamonds adorning the other patrons. Every man she sees is in a tuxedo, and every woman is in a gorgeous velvet or silk gown, fabrics all deep and rich in color. Her face brightens when she catches sight of two men waiting for her just inside.

Hannibal and Will are there, hands clasped, matching wedding bands shining. Hannibal looks as dapper as ever, and Will is styled to match, his hair slicked back for once. It’s an odd sight, but Abigail stifles her smirk and runs toward them, uncaring of the sour glances sent her way by the other patrons. She is here, with her fathers, and she can’t think of anything else in the world that matters. A dress and heels do nothing to slow her as she rushes towards them, barreling straight into Hannibal.

Hannibal stumbles slightly, taking one step back to brace himself as Abigail lands in his arms. “My dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I believe you are making a scene.”

Abigail’s smile does not waver, nor does her grip loosen. “I missed you,” she replies. She can feel the tears welling in her eyes. “I missed you both so much.”

“Oh, but I don’t get a hug?” Will asks with mock offense lacing his tone. “Way to play favorites.”

Abigail finally releases Hannibal and turns to Will, hugging him just as tight. “You’re one to talk,” she says. “Seems like I’m always popping up as the third wheel.”

Will chuckles and kisses the top of her head. “You’re not a third wheel,” he says softly. “You’re our daughter. Now come on. It’s starting soon and Hannibal got us a private box.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Abigail responds, eyeing Hannibal.

“Call me pretentious and I’ll ground you,” Hannibal says, leading them away from the front room.

“I can’t tell if that’s a parental threat or a cannibalistic one,” Abigail shoots back.

Will snorts.

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth twitches downward and a look of exasperation passes over his face— the closest Abigail will ever get to seeing Hannibal roll his eyes.

Will and Abigail follow Hannibal to their seats, high up on the left side of the room. There are three chairs in their private area, the center one pushed forward a fair bit more than the other two. Will and Hannibal take the seats flanking the center chair, leaving it for Abigail.

Abigail takes a seat and the lights in the auditorium go down. As she shifts in her seat and gets comfortable, she begins to wonder what they are even here to see. She opens her mouth to ask, but something odd catches her attention, and she frowns. Even in the dim cavern-like area, even from her distance so high up, she can see that no one is in the seats below. Abigail looks across from them, to the other private boxes, but they are only dark spaces of nothingness behind thick, half-drawn curtains. She tries to remember the faces from the crowd in the lobby but finds that they all blur together.

On the stage, the curtains part, and the lights shine down onto no one. The stage is empty, too.

Abigail turns to Will. “Dad, what’s—” Abigail cuts herself off, seeing that Will is gone. Her heart begins to race, fear freezing the blood in her veins. Her blood barely warms from the hand that wraps around her own.

“ _ Time did reverse. The teacup I’ve shattered has come together, _ ” Hannibal says.

Abigail turns, but he isn’t there either. The warmth of his hand on hers lingers.

“ _ A place was made for all of us, _ ” his voice says. “ _ Together _ .”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” another voice interjects softly. It’s Will. “ _ No! _ ”

Abigail feels something warm begin to drip down her neck, through the gaps in her diamond choker and down the sleeve and front of her dress. She touches her cold hand to the left side of her neck, fingertips pressing into the warm liquid as rivulets of it down her shoulder in all directions, spider webbing her skin. She pulls her fingers back, seeing red coating them.

Just as Abigail realizes she is bleeding, the wound on her neck opens further, spouting great amounts of blood. Abigail gasps, her whole body spasming in shock as she reaches to cover her neck, knocking the chair back. It hits the floor with no sound at all, and her eyes screw tightly shut upon impact.

She opens her eyes to the dark, blurring colors of the opera house as the world around her dissolves. Her eyes slip shut again of their own accord, and everything around her disappears, but the warmth of Hannibal’s touch does not dissipate.

* * *

Abigail awakens in a hospital bed as she had all those months ago, sweating and frazzled and confused and  _ scared _ , choking on the tube down her throat and shaking as medical personnel rush in to help. Abigail’s chest heaves as she watches them, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Before she had tried to scream, tried to rip everything away, but this time she freezes. This time she waits.

She can’t think, she can hardly breathe, and her ears are ringing so loudly she can’t make out the words as a nurse speaks to her. Tears well up in her eyes and spill over. She turns her head, trying to see what’s going on, and a burst of pain hits her, the sensation like a ring of fire around her throat. She heaves and cries harder, and the pain only worsens.

She sees a nurse approach her with a syringe, placing the needle into the injection port on her IV tube. The bedlam in her mind slows and the world becomes fuzzy at the edges, darkness clouding her vision as what she assumes must have been a heavy sedative begins to take effect.

The next time Abigail comes to, she feels calm and heavy. The sedative must have been stronger than she initially anticipated. She swallows, thankful that the breathing tube is gone, and her brow furrows at the immensely dry feeling in her throat. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out. She lays there, staring at the off-white ceiling, attempting to gather her thoughts.

She had been with Hannibal. They were cooking. Will called. Jack showed up. Alana showed up. Will showed up. Hannibal cut him, and then he had cut her, and then… 

Nothing. The world darkened after that, faded into nothingness, and gave way to her dreams.

Abigail wonders how long she was asleep. She only wonders for a few moments more before the door opens.

“Abigail Hobbs,” a voice says.

It’s Jack Crawford. Abigail isn’t sure whether or not she should be relieved. As footsteps approach her bed, she dons her mask.

“Water,” she breathes, voice all but gone. “Please.”

There’s a soft sigh from Jack, and then he steps into her field of view, standing next to her. One hand slides under her head, gently lifting it as the other hand brings a cup of water to Abigail’s lips.

Abigail, despite the soreness in her throat, drinks greedily. Her eyes flutter shut as she swallows, slowly draining the cup and relaxing in Jack’s hold. When the cup is empty Jack sets it back on the bedside table and guides Abigail to lay back down.

“Thank you,” she says softly, eyes shining as she looks up at him. 

She is, in all honesty, grateful for Jack’s presence. She needs to know what happened while she was asleep, and while she would prefer to get her news from Will, hearing it from Jack was the next best thing. She knows he is suspicious, though, he always has been, so she elects once more to play the victim.

“Don’t mention it,” Jack replies, taking a seat.

Abigail clears her throat, rubbing the thin blanket between her fingers with faux nervousness. “I’m sorry—”

“Shut your mouth,” Jack says, face unreadable and tone even.

Abigail blinks owlishly at Jack, genuine shock in her eyes. “W-what? Agent Crawford—”

“I said, shut your mouth,” Jack says, anger slipping into his tone now. “I don’t want to hear it. I know what you’re doing. He did the same thing to me for months, Abigail. I’m not going to fall for it again. Especially not from you, not after what happened the first time.”

Abigail blinks again, but manages to keep her composure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Crawford…”

Jack glares at her. “You helped Hannibal. You were alive all this time, and you helped him that night. You pushed Alana out of the window, lured Will into the kitchen to be slaughtered— just like you helped your father kill those girls.”

“I didn’t want to!” Abigail snaps. Adrenaline hits her, and she finds the energy amongst it to sit up. “Don’t you understand that? I didn’t want to help him,” she yells. “Those girls didn’t have to die!”

“Then why?” Jack asks, holding her gaze. “Why did you help him?”

Abigail’s face drops and she echoes the words she said to Will that night, “I didn’t know what else to do.” Tears well in her eyes. “So I did what he told me.”

Jack’s expression begins to soften. Abigail can see the doubt and remorse in his eyes.

“Is that what happened with Hannibal, Abigail?” he asks.

Abigail, much to Jack’s horror, begins to grin as the tears cascade down her cheeks.

“No,” she replies. She giggles as the shocked and disturbed look passes across Jack’s face. “ _ I’m not going to fall for it again, _ ” she says, deepening her voice to mimic Jack. “Isn’t that what you just said?”

Jack frowns, ignoring her statement. “Are you going to stop pretending, then?” he asks.

Abigail pouts. “It’s not fun if you already know. I don’t have my father’s patience.”

Jack raises a brow. “I would hardly call murdering your mother and attempting to murder you the moment he was found out to be patient,” he says.

“I don’t mean Garret Jacob Hobbs.”

It’s Jack’s turn to blink at Abigail, eyes wide. He isn’t sure which is more surprising at the moment— Abigail calling her father by his full name or the implications of Abigail’s statement.

“You mean Hannibal,” Jack says, his voice almost a whisper.

Abigail nods. “We don’t share blood in our veins,” she says. “But that’s okay.” She looks down, curling and uncurling her fingers. “We share blood on our hands. That’s what makes us family, Jack.”

“No,” Jack replies, rising from his seat. “It’s what makes you both monsters. It’s what makes you the same fucking kind of crazy.”

Abigail looks up at him. “On the contrary,” she says, her smile returning. “I’ve never felt more sane. My time with Hannibal brought me nothing but clarity.”

Jack shakes his head. “It made you evil.”

Abigail hums. “Evil is simply a point of view.”

Jack begins to leave, but just as he reaches the door, Abigail calls out to him.

“When am I going to see Will? Is he awake yet?”

Jack takes a deep breath and regards Abigail with a more neutral expression, having reined in his emotions. “It’s been eight days since Hannibal spilled our blood in his kitchen. You were in a coma for seven of them,” he says. “Will woke up yesterday, late in the afternoon. He’s making a full recovery in a separate hospital, away from you and without the knowledge that you survived.”

Abigail’s blood freezes in her veins. “What do you mean? Why haven’t you told him yet?”

Feeling more in control of the situation now, Jack relaxes. “I have told him. I told him you died.”

“No,” Abigail breathes. The anxiety returns, but she tries to hide it.

“Yes,” Jack replies. “And when you’re ready to leave the hospital, you’ll be moved to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.”

“You can’t do that,” she hisses. “You can’t keep me there. You have to put me through a trial.”

“And I will. But during the proceedings, you will be held there. And after you are determined guilty, you will remain there, and you will rot there.” Jack looks at Abigail for a moment, then approaches the bed, pulling out a set of handcuffs. He cuffs one wrist to the bed. “We can’t have you running off.”

Abigail grunts, tugging at the cuffs, and reaches out, grabbing at Jack, fingers barely missing his coat as he steps out of reach. She looks more like a wild animal than a girl now.

“You can’t do this!” she practically screeches. “You can’t do this! You can’t hide me! Hannibal knows I’m alive, and he’ll come back for me!”

“You may want to check the news, Abigail,” Jack says, heading for the door again. “As far as everyone else is concerned, you died in that kitchen.”

Jack leaves Abigail there, angry and stunned, screaming and cursing and tugging at the cuffs on her wrist. Even as he listens to Abigail insult him and taunt him and threaten him, he can’t help but feel sorry for her, and even as her voice fades, he can’t help but feel that he did not leave the hospital alone.

* * *

Abigail doesn’t see Jack again until almost two weeks later. With him are several agents, none of whom she recognizes. Part of her hoped Will would have come to visit her at some point, even though she knows he believes her to be dead.

She was dressed and bathed, fully prepared for discharge from the hospital. The only thing that kept her there was the cuff around her wrist, keeping her chained to the hospital bed. She looked at Jack expectantly, waiting for him to begin speaking, pointedly avoiding greeting him.

“You’re being transferred,” Jack says. “Everything’s in order now. You’re going to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane to be held until and for the duration of your trial, which begins in two weeks. Upon your guilty verdict, you will be sentenced to stay there for however long the judge sees fit. Given the way things are looking for you, I don’t think good behavior is going to get you out before I die.” 

His words are cold and triumphant. He always had some form of wariness around Abigail, some distance, but now it was stronger. It was justified. To Jack, Abigail was just like every other criminal he caught— she was a monster. There was no reason for unnecessary formalities anymore. There was no reason to pretend.

Abigail only nodded in response, face straight and demeanor calm, as if she had fully accepted her fate.

They both knew it was just a game, though. Psychological cat and mouse, waiting to see who cracked first.

Jack nods at his men, and one of them moves forward. Abigail’s wrists are cuffed with a separate pair of handcuffs before the first pair is removed, and another man moves forward to cuff her ankles. They help her off the bed, giving her harsh glares. 

Abigail was unsure if the expressions were meant to intimidate her into cooperating or silently insult her for being a killer. She found that she didn’t care either way. She allowed herself to be led out of the hospital and into the back of a van without a fuss, deciding she was nowhere near ready to make any moves. 

She needed to get settled and make a plan. She needed to wait. It was either play the long game or bust, so she would reluctantly learn her father’s patience.

The ride in the van was short and uneventful, none of the guards seated around her making any attempts at conversation. The most exciting part of the trip was a particularly large pothole, the impact of which sent Abigail halfway out of her seat. She giggles at the feeling, remembering when Hannibal helped her off the counter that one time after drawing her blood. She smiles fondly at the memory, and when she comes back to the world around her, the guards are staring at her like she’s a circus animal. Abigail only flashes them a bright smile in response.

* * *

Once she arrived at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane Abigail was processed, given a change of clothes, and assigned a cell.

She was escorted by a single orderly who guided her gently by the shoulder as if she were a friend and not a dangerous killer. He was an older man, pushing forty if she had to guess, with cropped black hair, a thick but trimmed beard, dark skin, and bright brown eyes. Too bright, in Abigail’s opinion, for someone working in a place like this. He couldn’t have been here long. Not to be this happy and calm.

Abigail took a peek at his identification as they walked, seeing the name  _ Barney Matthews _ on the card clipped to his breast pocket. She chuckles softly.

“Something funny?” Barney asks, smiling softly.

“Your name,” Abigail replies. “I’m sorry, It’s just—”

“Thinkin’ about the purple dinosaur aren’t you?”

Abigail shrugs. “Guilty as charged,” she says. “I’m guessing you get that a lot?”

“Some of the guys never shut up about it,” Barney replies. “Roommates gave me  _ hell _ in college. Kids love me, though, so that’s something.”

Abigail hums. “Do you have any kids?”

Barney opens his mouth, then shuts it, lips pressing together tightly. After a moment he says, “I can’t talk about those kinds of things with you. You know that.”

Abigail nods. “My apologies, I was only trying to make friendly conversation.” She inwardly cringes at how  _ Hannibal _ she sounds. Being like her father is one thing, turning into him is another. “I won’t pry or overstep boundaries.”

“Much appreciated,” Barney says as they finally reach Abigail’s cell. He unlocks it and waits until Abigail is completely inside to lock it back, then begins removing her cuffs.

“Thank you very much,” Abigail replies, rubbing her wrists. “Spent more time in those than out of them in the past couple of weeks.”

Barney gives her an apologetic look. “Then I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that you’ll be wearing them again in a couple hours. Dr. Chilton wants to see you.”

“Ah, yes, Dr. Chilton,” Abigail says. “I remember him. Never met him in person, but I’ve heard quite a lot.” She leaves out the times she lingered on the steps in Hannibal’s home and listened in on his dinner conversations with the man. Those had been fun times. She couldn’t wait to truly experience Chilton in person, if only to amuse herself with how dull and arrogant he was.

“All good things, I hope,” Barney responds, but his tone and expression make it obvious that he isn’t a fan of Chilton any more than Abigail is.

Abigail chuckles and takes a seat on her bed. “Of course. I’ll see you later, then, Mr. Matthews.”

He nods. “See you later, Miss Hobbs.” He turns and walks away, heading back down the long row of cells, ignoring the patients that hissed and cursed at him.

As he came around the corner, a voice said, “Miss Hobbs. At least you’re trying to keep things professional.”

Barney jumps, startled by the sudden voice. “Dr. Chilton,” he says, pulling himself back together. “I thought you didn’t want to see Miss Hobbs until later.”

“I don’t,” Chilton confirms. “I came down here to ask why you’re being so chummy with her. It’s not…appropriate. She’s a murderer.”

“She’s practically a kid, Dr. Chilton, I—”

“She’s not a child!” Chilton hisses. “She helped her father kill eight girls that we know of, gutted a poor boy like he was a deer, and probably helped Hannibal kill and cannibalize God knows how many people. She is almost twenty years old. She is not to be sympathized with or pitied or seen as anything other than a very capable killer. She spent nearly six months under Hannibal Lecter’s wing, there’s no telling what sort of threat she poses.”

“Then why such light restraints?” Barney asks, holding up the single set of wrist and ankle cuffs he removed from Abigail minutes ago.

“I don’t want her to think I’m afraid of her,” Chilton replies.

Barney repressed a sigh. Of course, it all boiled down to Chilton playing mind games, always thinking he was the smartest man in the room. In Barney’s mind, Chilton wasn’t even the smartest man in the hallway. Pride and arrogance destroyed all opportunities for moments of pure intelligence.

Barney didn’t believe Chilton one bit. The way he saw it, if Abigail helped her father, it was under intense duress and manipulation that has obviously left her incredibly traumatized. Following that up being groomed and kidnapped by another serial killer cannibal she had come to see as a father figure more than likely caused her further, possibly irreparable, psychological damage. To Barney, Abigail Hobbs was no monster. She was a victim, a survivor, neglected and abused by the system that was meant to be helping her.

“I will see that I am more careful in the future,” Barney says.

Chilton nods curtly. “Yes, quite. And watch your language with her. I don’t want to hear any more chit chat with you two. She isn’t a visitor, she’s an inmate. The sooner you learn that, the better.” Chilton turns on his heel and leaves, not bothering with a goodbye.

Barney only huffs in response before continuing his walk down the hall, cuffs clinking softly in his grasp.

* * *

The following months pass in a sort of blur for Abigail. She awakens each morning to an orderly bringing her breakfast, usually bland slop, and spends her time reading until lunch. Her lunch is usually brought by Barney, who spends a few minutes speaking with her before moving on to his other duties. She spends her time between lunch and dinner considering various strategies and options for escape, and at some point has her thoughts interrupted by an orderly who takes her to a separate room so that she can shower. She has dinner, lays down, thinks of family, and falls asleep. Rinse and repeat. The only occasional break in monotony is caused by a visit from one of the nurses to ensure she’s healthy, an appointment with Dr. Chilton, or a rare call or even rarer visit from her lawyer.

She doesn’t bother to keep up with the days, just as she doesn’t bother to respond to Chilton in therapy no matter how hard he tries. The only people she speaks to are Barney, the occasional nurse, and her lawyer. 

In the end, Abigail attends the trial and pleads guilty by reason of insanity. The court eats it up, and she’s sentenced to far more years than she’ll ever survive, but she doesn’t let it faze her. She’s hopefully looking at a year, perhaps two, before she finds her way out. She only needs to be patient and formulate a proper plan.

All good things to those who wait. She could wait. Could Jack?

Abigail isn’t surprised when Jack finally comes to visit her, six months after her incarceration. She had seen him briefly during court, and they had shared several glances, but every time she approached him he disappeared. Now here he is, sitting in a creaking metal chair, talking about catching Hannibal Lecter. She wonders how Jack will feel years from now, sitting in his empty house, his final career goal left unfulfilled.

Abigail finally opens up and has her fun, toying with Jack in a way that so clearly echoes her father one might think he was guiding her through it. And, in a way, he was. Abigail could see him in her mind, whispering exactly what to do, what to say, and how to say it. It felt like she was hunting with him. It felt exhilarating.

Jack finally leaves, promising he won’t come back. Abigail only expectantly awaits his return, knowing it will come sooner or later.

Two months later, verging on three, Barney appears in front of her cell with two sets of cuffs.

“You have a visitor,” he says.

Abigail holds her wrists out to be cuffed. “Let me guess,” she replies, the soft click of the cuffs locking together reverberating in her ears. “Jack Crawford.”

Barney nods and releases her. “You’re not going to be as hard on him as you were last time, are you?”

Abigail draws her cuffed hands back into her cell. “Were you listening?”

“Someone has to monitor the security feed during visitation.” Barney retrieves his key ring and unlocks Abigail’s cell door, stepping inside slowly, watching her carefully.

Abigail hums. She knew as much as Barney was a kind, trusting man, he was also a smart and cautious one. As well as he had treated her, he still kept a certain distance.

Barney knelt down to cuff Abigail’s ankles, watching each shift of her weight and listening to each soft exhale. Once she was properly restrained, Barney took her gently by the arm, as always, and led her out of her cell.

“Didn’t answer my question,” he says.

“Harder,” she answers. “I’m going to be a lot harder on him this time.”

“Why?” Barney asks.

“You know my story,” Abigail shoots back, voice turning bitter. “You know what he did.”

“He faked your death. He’s hiding you from a dangerous man that looked after you following the death of your parents. I don’t quite understand where your anger is coming from,” Barney replies. This is a lie, though, and they both know it. He just wants to hear Abigail say it. Perhaps, he thinks, it will be therapeutic. Cathartic.

Instead of explaining, though, Abigail simply offers Barney another question, “What would you do if a man tore you away from your family?” Abigail stops, forcing Barney to stop as well, and turns to look him in the eye.

Barney’s eyes flash in response to Abigail’s question, a rare emotion appearing on his face that he quickly conceals.

“See?” she asks softly.

Barney shakes his head. “I’m not like you,” he replies, gently tugging her arm until she begins to move forward again.

“But you understand. Whatever sort of family you have, you must love them. You’d do anything for them, wouldn’t you?”

Barney responds with a sharp nod, jaw clenched, not trusting his own tongue.

“This is the same for me,” she says. “Jack separated me from my family. They think I’m dead. He deserves to pay for that pain. He loves justice. I’m only giving him a taste of his own medicine.”

Barney doesn’t respond. The rest of their walk to the privacy room is in silence. Jack isn’t waiting for them when they get there, but Barney leads Abigail into the privacy room anyway, curiosity eating away at him as he shuts the door.

“This room isn’t monitored,” Barney says.

“You sure about that?” Abigail asks.

“It would be illegal for Dr. Chilton to record anything in this room.”

Abigail scoffs. “And you think that’d stop him?”

“I checked myself,” Barney assures.

Abigail regards him curiously. “You have something to say that you don’t want Dr. Chilton hearing,” she guesses. “That, or you think I do.”

Barney swallows. “I have to know…” he says. “Did you really help your father kill those eight girls? I know that’s what they’re claiming, but is it true?”

Abigail stiffens, the question shocking and upsetting her. Her eyes shut and she regrets the movement instantly, the sight unfolding behind her eyelids causing an unpleasant churning in her gut. She takes deep breaths, counting in her head, listening to Hannibal’s voice guide her back to calmness. The image behind her eyes fades slowly, but she continues to shake slightly.

“I don’t like to talk about that,” she finally replies, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Besides, I pled guilty, didn’t I? Doesn’t matter now.”

Barney nods, feeling ashamed, taking the reaction as evidence of Abigail’s innocence. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Abigail shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. I set a boundary, you’re respecting it. Some might call that friendship.”

Despite himself, despite their situation, Barney smiles. “Some might.”

When Jack arrives, Barney doesn’t bother with the spiel about soft paper and no pencils. He unlocks the door, seeing Jack’s curious look from the corner of his eye. He allows Jack to enter first, leading Abigail in afterward. He releases her arm to pull her chair out for her, and he sees Jack’s hands clench.

Abigail takes her seat and offers her wrists to Barney, allowing him to attach the chain of the cuffs to the metal loop on top of the table, keeping her anchored there.

“Thank you, Barney,” she says to him, silently reveling in the shock and confusion on Jack’s face at how cordial she is with the orderly.

“You’re welcome, Abigail. I’ll be back to retrieve you in an hour,” Barney says before leaving the room.

Abigail grins at Jack once they’re alone, smug and comfortable with the turn of events. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your return?”

Jack’s expression melts back into his stoic, angry persona. A well-made mask for the kind man underneath. Abigail almost laughs. They don’t need masks anymore.

“Hannibal and Will left Italy. Together.” Jack opens a file, showing off several photos of a bloody apartment and dead bodies. “This is all they left behind in Florence.”

Abigail raises a brow. “And?” she asks.

“And you’re going to help me find them,” Jack answers matter-of-factly. Before Abigail can refute him, he says, “Your assistance will gain you privileges and a better sentence. Perhaps even a better facility.” He locks eyes with Abigail. “I might even let you see them once they’re apprehended.”

Abigail nearly loses her cool in that moment, nails digging into her palms. Jack is playing dirty now, offering visitation, and she knows better than to trust his word over this particular matter. He was honorable, but he was also scorned by loss and betrayal. Still, she smiles. 

“Well then,” she says, taking a deep breath. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

* * *

Just as he expected, Barney returns to the privacy room to find a smug Abigail and an annoyed Jack.

“I’m sure after a night to rest and think things over that I’ll be over much better use, Agent Crawford,” Abigail says cheerily.

Jack only grumbles in response as he gathers the documents and photographs he brought along with him.

Barney begins removing Abigail’s cuffs from the table and pulls her chair out for her. He takes her from the room, offering Jack a polite goodbye before returning Abigail to her cell.

“Have a good evening, Abigail,” he tells her as he removes her cuffs.

“You too, Barney,” she replies, rolling her wrists and stretching a bit.

Barney smiles and leaves, cataloging his tasks for the afternoon in his mind. Just as he picks out what he’ll be doing next, he rounds the corner and comes face to face with Jack. Startled, Barney nearly jumps and takes a step back. People have  _ got _ to stop doing this to him.

“Have a good evening?” Jack asks, saying the words as if they were poisonous.

“Do you have a problem with courtesy?” Barney asks, brushing past Jack, sick of yet another person mocking him for how he treats patients.

“You shouldn’t care so much about the Hobbs girl,” Jack says, following him down the hall.

“Yeah? Why?” Barney asks, not really caring about the answer.

Jack grabs Barney by the arm and twists him around. “Do you know what happened to the last good person who cared about Abigail?”

Barney stares quizzically at Jack. “What?”

“Abigail pushed her out of a second-story window onto a concrete driveway. She’s the only victim to survive Abigail Hobbs.” Jack tucks his hands into his pockets. “I hope that one day, like Dr. Bloom, you'll come to appreciate my lack of sympathy for her.”

A shudder wracks Barney’s frame. He had heard about Alana Bloom’s accident and her critical condition, but he hadn’t known Abigail was the cause. He started to wonder if Abigail was worth the greater amount of fear and caution she seemed to inspire in Jack and Dr. Chilton. 

_ Still _ , he thinks.  _ The act of violence must have been ordered by Dr. Lecter. Abigail is still the victim here _ .

“Abigail is a patient here, and so long as she remains, I will be a polite caretaker as I am for all of the other inmates,” he says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Jack watches Barney go, feeling a sense of dread. He sighs, knowing there’s nothing he can do, and leaves. 

If he can’t win this game, he’ll put a stop to it entirely.

**Author's Note:**

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